Tess Grayson
by Lady Olivia Devereax
Summary: A hired assassin is good at what she does. She's the best. How else is she still alive? When Natasha and Clint stumble upon Tess Grayson, they find her strangely similar. Even Natasha can hardly compete with her skills. Maybe a Tess/Clint eventually, but that remains unknown
1. Chapter 1

Tess Grayson crouched, resting her hands on her knees. She observed the view below her with a calculative look. Seven military vehicles, covered in camoflauge, were spread out in a wide circle in front of her. A fire crackled in the middle, as fourteen army-garbed soldiers prepared their dinner.

Tess dropped to her hands and knees, then lowered herself into the grass. Lifting up her rifle again and setting it against her shoulder, she peered through the scope at the men below. Raking her top teeth against her bottom lip, Tess reviewed her plan.

One sniper against fourteen soldiers clearly wasn't enough.

"Dang." She muttered, army crawling backwards. It wasn't as if she weren't prepared—Tess wore a black leather jacket, black cargo pants, and black leather, fingerless gloves. The bold color against dead grass wasn't a problem. By the time Tess allowed herself to be seen, her enemies were as good as dead.

She had a belt of sniper ammunition looped over her left shoulder and under her right arm, a belt of shotgun rounds draped over her right shoulder and under her left arm, plus a belt around her waist glimmering with bullets for her two 500 Smith and Wesson Magnums, which were holstered around both thighs. A fixed blade knife stuck out of her black combat boots, finishing off the look.

Her dark brown hair secured in a tight braid, Tess looked like someone you didn't mess with. Dried grass and soil crunched under her boots as she went to her Jeep. The map laid out on the hood was of no use to her now—she had memorized it. Tess reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed her army green backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

Throwing caution to the wind, Tess marched down the hillside toward the camp. The trucks were loaded with military ammunition, and she was sent to destroy it. Seven of the soldiers had strayed from the fire to begin a watch shift. Tess headed to the closest truck. Snatching a grenade from her back and yanking the pin put with her teeth, Tess tossed it in and jogged to the next one.

the single explosion set the camp up in a roar of confusion. Thick braid swinging to and fro, Tess danced from truck to truck, tossing in grenades when she reached one. Finally, she walked calmly to the middle of the burning camp and stood in front of the fire. Fourteen rifles were pointed at my head.

"You just attacked the US Army." The leader stated.

Tess raised a dark eyebrow. "No kidding?"

She pulled four grenades from her pack and held them out in front of her. Swiftly jerking out the pins, Tess held them in front of her face as gunfire rained down around her. A bullet grazed her boot, but otherwise she remained unscathed.

"Permission to speak two sentences?" Tess requested.

They stared at her blankly.

"One, you have terrible aim." Tess raised my arms.

"Two, Merry Christmas." She threw the grenades, wheeled around, and ran.

Tess swiftly ran to the top of the hill and slid into her Jeep. As she drove away, Tess looked down the ridge. Seven trucks and fourteen mangled bodies lie in flaming ruins on the California sand below. Tess smiled in satisfaction.

**I have one question for you: Who Is Tess?**


	2. Chapter 2

Tess was in Mexico within two days.

"Welcome back," the grating voice greeted her from the darkness.

"My mission was successfully completed," Tess reported respectfully.

"Very good." The bodiless voice said.

"Is there anything more?" Tess asked.

"Your next mission is waiting for you."

Tess nodded—even though she couldn't see him, wherever he was, she knew he could see her—and returned to her jeep.

Tess knew her recruiter, her trainer and a few other counterparts, but she didn't know the man who was calling the shots. After she had outranked half the other assassins, the bigger names of the operation took higher precautions.

Now, with her skills, Tess could do what she wanted and get away with it. But if she didn't know, she couldn't tell. And that's why They made sure she didn't know.

The Mexico sun beat down on her olive brown skin, making her uncomfortable. But her expression never wavered. Tess rarely portrayed any signs of panic, anxiousness, uncomfort, happiness, or any other emotion.

Except for anger. She was angry.

It is to be expected, yes? Cliché? No. That's because good people don't hire themselves out as weapons. Hurt people do. Angry people do. Morally wounded people. Scarred people. People with nowhere to go. That's who signs up to be an assassin.

Tess pulled into her apartment parking lot. She took her bags out of the jeep, swung them over her shoulder and began to ascend the stairs.

Tess unlocked the door and kicked it open. She dropped her dusty bags on the floor and looked around. The airy apartment was orginized, clean, and print-less.

Tess went to the door-side table and took a pair of Latex gloves out of a box. Slipping her hands into them, Tess took a rag and wiped down her keys, door knob, and anything else she happened to touch as she walked in.

Tess knew that someone would be looking for her. They always were. So she remained as invisible as possible. Someone could look through every nook and cranny in her room, and find absolutely nothing. Her room was as empty as a hotel room.

To be honest, the only difference was that there was no 'Holy Bible' in the nightstand. Tess slipped plastic bags over her shoes and mopped and swept the floor where red desert dust remained in a perfect replica of the bottoms of her boots.

Simply by the tracks, someone could determine her height and weight, where she bought the shoes, where she had been, and how recently she had returned.

Tess went through the room, pulled her billfold from one of her bags and examined the seven drivers liscenses.

Jackie Croft. Blue eyes, black hair.

Katherine Fox. Brown eyes, brown hair.

Elizabeth Reeves. Green eyes, auburn hair.

Lissie Aster. Brown eyes, black hair

Marta Rambert. Blue eyes, blonde hair.

Carrie Wilson. Green eyes, black hair.

Alissa Johnson. Blue eyes, Blonde hair.

Tess looked up. She was standing in front of the mini fridge. She opened the door and saw the file. Taking it out, Tess returned to her bag, extracted the grocery bag and sat down with her dinner at the table.

Flipping the file open, Tess read with wary eyes, extracting every detail.


	3. Chapter 3

"Slow down, Romanoff," Clint Barton caught his partner's arm and yanked her around the corner of a building. "Let go of me, Barton," The Russian assassin growled. "Fury ordered us to take care of this, not get killed." Barton replied sharply. He let go of her and turned to face the damp, brick wall of the building they were up against. Spotting the dark fire escape in the shadows, Barton took hold of a bar and swung himself up.

"If we come down on top of them," He began. "We might have a bigger advantage." "You mean bigger than forty guys with fully automatics?" Romanoff snapped. "Maybe," Clint began to silently go up the stairs all the way to the roof. Natasha begrudgingly followed. Clint dropped to all fours, and then lowered himself to army crawl along the roof top. He raised his binoculars to his eyes and squinted through them. "It's hard to see while it's dark." He commented, peering closer. "Stop talking and do your job," Natasha snapped, looking through infrared goggles to the mob down below.

"There they are," He reported in satisfaction. "So, now what?" He demanded. "Seriously? You dragged me up here and you don't have a plan?" Natasha retorted. "No. I figured you would have one." Clint simply shrugged, completely unphased by her withering glare. Fog temporarily blocked the mob from view, before a slight breeze whistled along and blew it away. Metal clicked and shifted as Natasha prepared. Clint glanced over at her. "What are you doing?" He asked. "Your job," She responded, setting up her sniper and peering through the scope.

"If you're doing my job, then what do I do?" Clint demanded, a grim smile playing on his lips. "My job," Natasha replied instantly. The smile died and Clint clenched his jaw. "I hate being the distraction." He grumbled, backing up and sliding over the edge of the roof. He slid halfway down the fire escape and hit the ground running. Barreling across the street to the next building, Clint remained unheard and unseen by all but Natasha, who was sighting in her targets.

Clint lifted himself up to the roof and dropped his pack. Unzipping it, he extracted four mounts. He set them up at even distance, trying to do it as silently as possible. "Hurry up, Barton. They're not going to keep waiting there for us forever," Natasha snapped. "Oh, you'd be surprised," Clint grunted, taking out four semi automatics and setting them up on the mounts. Laying between two of the guns, Clint stretched out his arms and placed a finger in both trigger cages. "I'm ready," He announced. "Fire away," Natasha commanded. A flurry of bullets rained down on the mob. When they finally figured out the source and shot up at him, Clint rolled to the next two and fired both weapons.

He heard the sharp, loud shot of a sniper rifle. Clint's position was too dangerous to risk looking at the progress down below. He went back to the other two weapons and fired them some more, until he heard three more sniper shots. Still laying on his back, Clint packed up his gear and raced back down the side of the building. When he could finally look at what had happened below, he was mildly surprised. They all lay on the ground, dead or somehow injured. Clint saw one of the soldiers raise his arm, pistol in hand. Two shots were fired-one from the soldier, and one from Natasha. The soldier's head hit the pavement, lifeless. His bullet, however, was professionally aimed.

Clint admitted a sharp groan as it embedded itself in his shoulder. "You coming?" Natasha asked. "Yeah," Clint grunted, jogging to the building that she was currently coming off of. "Casulties?" She demanded. "Nothing serious." Clint responded, swinging his pack from his injured shoulder to his right. "Then let's go. The SHIELD jet is on it's way." Natasha commanded, and took off running. Clint sighed and followed, painfully running through the dark streets and alleys, and staying as far away from people as possible.

Clint's shoulder ached, but he was used to worse. After having been shot at for years, he was bound to catch a bullet or two. Running with a heavy pack and a wounded shoulder was the easiest part of the job. Working for SHIELD was no picnic, but he wasn't going to leave because his life was at stake. After working there for so long, he wouldn't be able to step out of his back door without being targeted.

Natasha knew it too. It had been not long ago when he was sent on a mission to take her down. SHIELD was surprised when he made a different call. Now she herself worked for SHIELD, as one of their most hardened agents. She knew that most of the personnel still didn't trust her, as they themselves could have been potential targets of the Russian killer. Natasha's footsteps were much lighter than Clint's even with the pack over her shoulders, for she had been trained to be stealthy. Clint had learned to be lightfooted, but there was a couple occasions where he was careless, and allowed his feet to make noise. Even so, it was a rarity.

Clint clutched his straps tighter, preventing his pack from slamming against his back every step. Clint began to pant ever so slightly. Even that didn't happen often-only now because his shoulder was costing him strength and focus. Natasha turned so sharply into an ally that she slid in a water puddle, before regaining her footing and continueing her ground-eating pace. They began to hear faint screaming, from people who came across the forty men who were on the ground bleeding. Clint forced his body to move faster, despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder. They heard an aircraft land some meters ahead.

Clint's sight wavered and he ran into the corner of a brick building as he turned. Stumbling, Clint shook his head, spraying droplets of water from his wet hair. Natasha glanced at him over her shoulder, not even breaking stride. "20 meters, Barton. Man up and get it over with." She hissed, and then looked straight ahead.

Clint tucked his chin to his chest and beat his uninjured arm in a steady rythm, focusing on the sound of the motors on the jet. Normally, he wouldn't have hurt this bad. But now he was constantly losing blood, plus running at full speed, with just under 65 feet left to go before they reached the jet. Already, police cruisers were searching the area. Clint bit his lip and turned to machine mode. All his attention on his running, he didn't even feel his shoulder.

The jet came into view as they raced in it's direction. Finally they were up on the ramp. It closed behind them and prepared for take off. Clint and Natasha collapsed on the seats. "Next time," Clint growled to the pilots. "Let us know where you land so that we can finish our mission closer than five miles away."

The pilot did nothing, only tossed a first aid box back to him. Clint caught it, and then set his bags on the ground. "Don't get your hopes up, agents." They knew what that meant. Fury had another job for them.

Clint scowled and grabbed a bandage. He looked up at Natasha, scanning her body for injury. Natasha noticed his investigation. "I'm fine, Barton," She uttered, before gesturing for him to continue his procedure.

He cleaned up his wound with experienced hands, then wrapped it. Soaked with sweat and rain, Clint leaned against the wall of the jet. "I'm getting old for this." He groaned. "Speak for yourself, old man," Natasha snorted. "I just did." Clint closed his eyes and gripped his arm, ready to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Seven days later

Tess sat in a restaraunt in Chicago, looking at each waitress. Three targets. Top priority assassins. Two of them work for a top secret orginization.

Tess sipped her iced tea. She wouldn't drink coffee. Ever. Too many bad memories. Target number one was posing as a waitress to get information from one of Mexico's top arms dealers.

"Check please," Tess waved as She saw her target. The waitress came over and handed Tess a reciept. It was already signed, but not with a signature. "Kitchen. Come or die." Four words scrawled on a piece of paper. She pulled a twenty from her purse and gave it to the cashier at the front desk and went to the kitchen.

"So, you've found me," the waitress drawled. "You know why I'm here," Tess growled. "You will lose. Bad guys always lose. It's your fate." Right there, in front of the cooks, Miranda Webb held a knife to Tess' throat. "There is no fate but what we make," Tess growled.'

"Did you get that from a movie?" She demanded confidently. "Yup. From the same series I got this one from, too, actually," Tess swept her legs across the back of Miranda's

Knees, knocking her down. Tess put her gun on the back of Webb's head. "Hasta Lavista, baby," she pulled the trigger, and people screamed.

Tess heard police sirens and shot the window. She jumped through the broken glass and towards her motorcycle. Tess drove over the speed limit towards the other two targets. A bullet grazed Tess' leg. She looked back. Crap. Her targets, instead of being at the execut location on her mission file, was right behind her.

Biting her lip, Tess, fishtailed the bike onto a side street and got off. Hiding around a corner, she loaded her Magnums. As soon as the red head's car came beside her, Tess raised her weapon. A shot was fired, but not from her gun. Tess's left thigh stung with pain and she collapsed.

Tess had never been caught. Shot, yes, but never caught. Fear over came her confidence and she scrambled away from the angry Russian. Tess glanced at her gun. Natasha Romanoff held her gun to Tess' nose. "Hell, give me a reason to blow your head off." She snapped.

To agravate her, Tess dropped all of her weapons and tossed them away. Romanoff scowled and a brown haired man dropped beside her and glared down at Tess.

"Finish it." He said, before getting on the phone. Natasha froze. "Natasha, what's the hold up? Complete the mission." Tess stared up at the red head. She frowned at the Mexican's words.

"Damn it, I can't do it!" She exclaimed, dropping her gun.

"Romanoff, don't drop it, she'll—," to Clint's surprise, Tess did nothing.

She just lay there. Not in pain, either.

Tess was disappointed. "What are you doing? Follow your orders, agent. Shoot me!" She shouted at her, throwing her gun up. Natasha caught it and tossed it to Clint. Then she stooped and punched Tess in the face. Everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

When Tess woke up, Natasha held all of her weapons and ammo, and Clint had her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. They were still argueing.

"Fury's going to be pissed." Barton groaned.

"Fury's always pissed." Natasha snapped.

"Why didn't you shoot her?" Clint demanded angrily, shifting his burden.

Natasha fell silent, making him even angrier. "Damn it, Natasha, what happened?" He shouted at her. Natasha whirled around and jabbed him in the chest with stiff fingers.

"What happened when you were sent to kill me, huh?" She demanded angrily. Clint shoved Tess off of him and she hit the ground hard. "Oof," Tess let out a string of curses in Spanish.

"What happened to you, Natasha? Have you grown soft? Since you made the downright _stupid_ decision to spare this assassin's life, _I've_ got to drag her ass on the jet, and _I've_ got to explain to Fury why _another_ mission got screwed up and why _another_ foreign assassin is alive and in America, much less his SHIELD base." Clint exclaimed furiously.

"Oh, shut the hell up." Natasha snapped, spinning around.

_Jet_?

Tess looked around her warily. Then she saw it. The dark grey aircraft. And then her cooperation stopped. She drew the line. There was no way she was going to get on a jet.

Tess stood swiftly and snatched her Magnums out of Natasha's bundle. "Sorry, but here's where we part ways." Tess lifted the guns to chest level and shot. Both assassins dove and were after her as fast as the bullets aimed at their hearts.

Tess stuffed the guns in her belt and dashed off in the oposite direction. She knew if she could outrun one of them, it would be Barton. He was big, muscar, thick. It was Natasha that she was worries about. Barton was very fast. He even caught her, wrapped his arms around her waist and brought boh of them down.

Tess cursed angrily. "Son of a—" She was cut off when he tried to knock her out by slamming his hand over her mouth and nose. She promptly kneed him in the gut amd pinched his suprascapular nerves, and he rolled away from her. Tess scrambled to her hands and knees, moving away from him.

She felt a cool barrel on her neck. "Finish your mission, Romanoff," Tess said, her Mexican accent coming out strongly. "Shoot me." Two seconds passed. Tess spun around, kicked the Russian in the shins and wrapped her fingers around her wrist. Tess fought her in close combat for minutes before Tess slid away from a punch and ran.

She knew she had to complete the mission. She had never not. Tess felt stinging pain in her arm as Clint's pistol winged her. "Wasn't my leg enough, damn it?!" She screamed over her shoulder, falling to the ground. The river was four yards away.

Another shot. Missed. Tess crawled forward. Footsteps coming closer. Pain racking through her body. She lifted herself over the railing. A hand grabbed her hair. Tess bit Clint's arm and flung herself over the railing.

Dark coldness engulfed her, and she fought her way towards the dock. If she could find _something_ away from Clint and Natasha, then she could nurse her wounds.

But her hesitation bothered her. It confused her. Tess angrily swam upward, to the surface. Why didn't she shoot? The Voice would be exceptionally disappointed. And why wouldn't he? His best assassin failed a mission. For what? Pity? Sympathy? Tess surfaced and shook her hair out of her eyes.

Then what was it? Natasha and Clint were targets. Just like every other target. What happened? Tess slammed her fist into the dock, frustrated. She had to get to a hotel. After she patched up her wounds, she'd get in her jeep and drive to Mexico. She might take a boat if needed, but flying was out of the question.

After she had seen that jet, Tess realized that the possibility of trying something new wasn't worth it. Besides, after years and _years_ of ruthlessly killing Americans, Tess wasn't quite ready to change.

She hoisted herself slowly onto the dock.

Tess limped to a motel, the one where she had booked her room. She reached into her bag and extracted Latex gloves before opening the door.


	6. Chapter 6

2 weeks later

* * *

Tess had finally returned to Mexico, after she drove all over the planet to heal on the way. Now she was mostly normal, with merely a slight limp.

The Voice was utterly pissed.

"You _failed_ a mission?!" He shouted in outrage.

"Yes," Tess did not allow her abashed feelings to show.

"This is unacceptable, Phantom." The Voice growled, his tone dangerously low.

"I understand that, sir—"

"Do you?!" He roared, anger lacing every word.

Tess remained silent, biting back her anger. She knew she had messed up. She knew that this was no minor problem. Tess had seen this before—one assassin went soft. The Voice gave her another chance and she screwed that mission up, too.

Her trainer was sent to kill her. And he did. She paid in full for her mistakes. Her trainer made her suffer for four hours before he finally allowed her to die. "You are going to re-do your mission, and when you come back, you had better have their heads." The Voice growled.

"Understood, sir." Tess returned to her jeep and sank into the seat. She gripped the steering wheel so hard that it seemed as though her veins would pop out of her hands. She was Tess Grayson. She was The Phantom. She had never failed. Her dark brown curls flew around her face as she shifted the jeep in reverse and spun to look behind her.

Backing out and onto the road, Tess went over a plan—she'd return to her apartment and hack SHIELDs mission files and figure out where Romanoff and Barton were stationed. Then she'd detain them there and finish them off.

Tess growled under her breath. Why she didn't kill them in the firstplace, Tess had no idea. She was freaking screwed for coming back with bad news.

Tess tried to figure out her hesitation. She tried to figure out Romanoff's hesitation. Romanoff was a seasoned assassin. They were ruffly the same age. Tess had seen the years of experience in the Russian's eyes.

Tess pulled into the parking lot and slipped on her tight-fitting gloves. As soon as she was inside, Tess sat down at her computer.

5 minutes later, Tess typed in a code. She waited, and then began to breach the firewall. An alarm suddenly blared through her speakers. "UNAUTHORIZED USAGE. SCANNING LOCATION: TESS GREYSON/THE PHANTOM. MEXICO." The red letters went on to list her adress and more rather _personal_ detail.

"Crap..." Tess grumbled, cursing.

She aborted her hacking and slammed down the laptop. With her ruber-garbed fingers, Tess gathered up everything and shoved it back into her bag. She fled the apartment room, locking the door behind her. This wasn't new to her. She'd done it at least sevwn times.

Tess had back up locations all over the world. But she wasn't going to go anywhere farther than across the street—chances are, they'd send Barton and Romanoff. Tess ran up to the roof of the building across the street and set up a sniper. Peering through the scope, she waited.

For two hours she lay, looking through her scope. Waiting was killing her. She hated not being able to move, and she kept shifting. After a while, her eyes began to water from holding them open for as long as she could.

Finally, two dark garbed people walked up to her room. They knocked on the door. The bigger one looked around him, and Tess caught a glimpse of his face. Barton. She placed her finger on the trigger. "Please don't do that," A cool voice requested, laying her gun against Greyson's head.

"Damn." Tess cursed, and rolled over so that she was facing her. The agent had brown curls cascading down her shoulders. She wore a dark blue shirt under a vest, and black bootcut jeans.

"All your weapons on the floor." She commanded. Tess rolled her eyes and began to unbuckle her Magnum belt. She raised both knees, and slammed her feet into the agent's shins. The agent took a step back, her guard down. Tess scrambled to her feet and ran forward, ramming her in the chest. The agent went down, but caught Tess' hair and brought the Mexican down with her.

A gun appeared in her hand and she aimed at Tess's heart. Tess snatched her wrist and twisted, sending the gun flying. A knife materialized in Greyson's hand and she bent down to slit her throat. The agent punched her shoulder roughly, causing Greyson's hand to slip and she drew a jagged line in the agent's chest instead.

The agent pulled a knife out of her boot and promptly buried it in Greyson's stomach. Greyson screamed in pain and rage and raised her knees to her chest. She thrust them out, kicking the agent and sending her flying over the edge of the building. Greyson crawled over to her bags.

She extracted a bandage and yanked out the knife. Tess swiftly wrapped her entire chest and abdomen, and then slipped her shirt and jacket back on. She looked down at her original targets. Barton was sprawled out on the sidewalk where the agent had fallen on him. Romanoff was no where to be found.

That worried Tess.

She repacked her weapons and ran down the stairway to her jeep. For once, Tess was running for her life. She had underestimated the agents. She spotted Romanoff after she had thrown her gear in her vehicle. Pulling out her Magnum, Tess growled and ran at her. Romanoff hadn't expected that, and was trapped against the building.

Tess placed her gun against the Russian's forehead. She couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger. "Damn it! Why can't I shoot you, damn it, tell me!" Tess screamed angrily. "Because," Natasha said simply, in a dangerouy low voice. "You look in my eyes and you see yourself." She stared at Tess's furious brown eyes and glared.

Tess realized with a start that she was right. Tess put the weapon back in her holster. She walked back to the jeep. She didn't care if someone shot her. She just walked. "What are you doing, Romanoff? Shoot her!" Clint shouted. "Shut the hell up, Barton." Natasha snapped.

Tess stepped in her jeep and simply drove away.

Her wound was healing painfully slow, but a week later, she didn't have a mission. The Voice had given her a month, and she knew she either had to kill or be killed.


	7. Chapter 7

The Voice gave Tess a different mission. Another chance. She was obviously valuable to him. Now, decked out in a stunning knee length red sheath dress, blood red lipstick, red pumps, and her dark brown hair curled around her shoulders, Tess headed to her planned destination.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she cooly walked towards a dark tunnel. She held her shoulder bag so that it wouldn't clap against her hip in her swinging stride. Tess glanced warily around her. She found no tails—none in sight anyway.

As she was told, Tess stopped in the light right outside the tunnel. She waited.

Listening.

Watching.

And then she heard heels clicking towards her. Tess evaluated the sound with her mind. The informant was a woman, she knew that much. But she didn't know her name. Tess had never seen her.

From experience, Tess knew that the sound didn't come from pencil-slim heels.

They were blocky heels. Odd.

It was a simple swap—Tess gives The Informant her money, the Informant gives Tess the file.

The file which held some of SHIELD's deepest secerets. Tess could only imagine what she'd been sent to retrieve. Aliases and code names to every SHIELD agent in the world? Suspects? SHIELD bases? Codes to weapons?

The heels alerted her that the informant was merely seven yards away. Tess flipped open the bag cautiously. She saw a sillhouette. She obviously wasn't wearing a dress.

Chocolate brown curls came into view. Tess inhaled a sharp breath. The woman she had thrown off the building, dresssd in SHIELD attire, marched toward her with a gun in her hand.

Tess' first thought was that she killed the informant. But she knew better. Tess had had her chance. The Voice had sent her on a suicide mission. Tess snatched her Magnum out of her bag. "You guys won't leave me alone, will you?" She demanded. The agent didn't blink.

"What do you think?" The woman asked, leveling her own gun with Tess' head. "And I suppose Barton and Romanoff are lurking nearby," Tess said cautiously. "Put the gun down and get on your knees, Greyson."

"Not happening," Tess ground the words through clenched teeth. "Don't make me shoot you right here." The woman looked like she didn't regret having her in that position anyway.

"Oh, don't worry," Tess lowered her gun. "I won't make you shoot me in this position," Tess squeezed the trigger. A shot rang through the dark alley, frightenig pigeons off the rooftops.

The SHIELD agent cursed and fell to the ground as the bullet went through her thigh. Tess spun around and ran, fighting to keep her balance in her heels. She felt a presence behind her and swerved around a corner and into a street. Headlights illuminated her dress.

Tess felt the corner of a Mac truck grill scrape her arm, shooting pain down the bleeding limb. She clenched her teeth in pained frustration. She threw open the doors of the closest building, not caring to know what exactly it was. The quietness, along with the unending shelves of books informed her that the building was a book shop.

Tess dove behind the counter. "Hey! Ma'am, I need you to get away from the counter." The clerk commanded. Tess ignored him. "Excuse me, Ma'am? Please get—"

Tess whipped a knife towards his thigh, but slightly to the right. He watched white faced as it embedded itself in the counter. "Shut up or I'll shoot your fingers off," She threatened, pulling her gun out. Tess calculated his next probably move. She glared up at him as he quaked in fear.

Tess heard the door bell jingle loudly. The clerk pointed a finger at her, giving away her position to whoever came through the door She cursed, jerked her knife out of the wood and jumped over the counter. Iron-like fingers wrapped around her throat. Tess looked up sharply. Angry green eyes glared at her.

Tess looked around frantically. "Drop the weapon," Romanoff growled. She tightened her fingers. Tess gave Natasha a 'how stupid do you think I am?' look and huffed.

Romanoff swung a knife at the other assassin, making her act quickly. Tess snatched a thick encyclopedia off a shelf and whopped Romanoff over the head with it. Natasha fell back, sprawled all over the clerk's counter.

Tess fled the shop, and ran almost straight into Barton. She backed up hesitantly. Barton raised a gun to her head and she froze. "Give up now and I'll kill you painlessly," he promised, half mockingly. Tess promptly kicked the gun out of his hand and ran. Someone tackled her from her left and she went flying through a window.

Shattered glass rained down everywhere, leaving angry red scrapes over Greyson's skin. Tess rolled, groaning. "Ugh! Would you guys just leave me freaking alone?!" She smelled fresh bread. Her attacker, the brown haired agent, scrambled to her feet and ran after her gun which was sliding across the floor.

"You really want me to answer that?" The agent demanded. "It was rhetorical," Tess shrugged, breathing heavily. Her arm stung, and the blood had stained everything from above the elbow to her finger tips.

Tess grabbed the object closest to her—a plastic spatula.

"What are you going to do, spank me?" The agent asked, limping to her. Tess could see the blood streaming from the bullet hole in her leg. They were both injured. They were both angry. They were both dangerous.

Like lionesses. And Tess seemed to have an advantage in that department.

"No," Tess said, backing away. "I'm going to saw this against your throat until you die." She threatened. Pain burst through her hand and Tess dropped the spatula. "Damn it!" She yelled in pain.

Tess whirled around. Barton stood there, his gun raised. "You shot my hand!" She screamed at him. "That's kind of what I was aiming at," Barton retorted. Tess shot him in the shoulder and ran. She skidded into a dark alley and into a neighborhood.

"Grayson, stop!" Barton shouted. His voice was a lot closer than it should have been. "Piss off!" Tess growled, running among the houses. He grabbed her arm. Tess saw, through the window, a little girl playing with her father.

"What part of 'piss off' didn't you understand?" She snapped, shoving him off. He held his gun to Tess' chest. "Shoot me, Barton. Shoot me, I'll shoot you, and then I'll shoot your pretty red headed girlfriend!" I spat, shifting in place.

"Drop the gun," Clint growled. "Leave me alone or...or...or I'll shoot the little girl." Tess said, levelling her gun with the girl's head. Barton instantly dropped the gun. "Tess, don't do this," he said calmly. "Why the hell not?" Tess demanded, rolling her shoulder, the one that was holding onto her injured arm.

"Because she's inncent, Tess. She has something that we don't have." Barton responded. "And when she grows up, she's just going to do something stupid!" Tess snapped, anger rising towards the agent. "That's not the point. Drop the gun, and we'll finish this. You and me. No one else. Do it, Tess." Barton wasn't begging. He was giving her the choice.

Tess didn't like it. She liked last minute decisions. Choices that left no room for guilt. Barton was just making her angry. And she didn't have time for it.

"Don't call me that," Tess spat. Clint took four steps forward. Tess stared down her arm, through the window and at the unsuspecting girl inside.

Her finger entered the trigger cage, ready to pull.

The girl was laughing.

She was so happy.

Tess couldn't bear to take that away from her.

Before she could make the final decision, spots appeared ahead of her vision and pain exploded through her knees. Tess realized she had fallen to the cement. Her head felt hot and sticky as the world went blurry around her. Everything went black. The last thing Tess thought was, 'I have nothing left to live for.'


End file.
